Paul Laurence Dunbar

Fling out your banners, your honors be bringing,
Raise to the ether your paeans of praise
Strike every chord and let music be ringing
Celebrate freely this day of all days

I know a little country place Where still my heart doth linger, And o'er its fields is every grace Lined out by memory's finger
Back from the lane where poplar grew And aspens quake and quiver, There stands all bath'd in summer's glow A farm ...

If I could but forget The fullness of those first sweet days,
When you burst sun-like thro' the haze Of unacquaintance, on my sight,
And made the wet, gray day seem bright While clouds themselves grew fair to see
And since, no day i...

I have seen peoples come and go Alike the Ocean'd ebb and flow;
I have seen kingdoms rise and fall Like springtime shadows on a wall
I have seen houses rendered great That grew from life's debased estate,
And all, all, all is change...

Ah,
Douglass, we have fall'n on evil days,
Such days as thou, not even thou didst know,
When thee, the eyes of that harsh long ago Saw, salient, at the cross of devious ways,

I am the mother of sorrows,
I am the ender of grief;
I am the bud and the blossom,
I am the late-falling leaf

A hush is over all the teeming lists,
And there is pause, a breath-space in the strife;
A spirit brave has passed beyond the
And vapors that obscure the sun of life

He was a poet who wrote clever verses,
And folks said he had a fine poetical taste;
But his father, a practical farmer, accused him Of letting the strength of his arm go to waste
He called on his sweetheart each Saturday evening,

Acrust of bread and a corner to sleep in,
A minute to smile and an hour to weep in,
A pint of joy to a peck of trouble,
And never a laugh but the moans come double;     And that is life

CE, and whirling worlds
Through all encircling skies
What floods come o'er the spirit's bar,
What wondrous thoughts arise

IF life were but a dream, my Love,
And death the waking time;
If day had not a beam, my Love,
And night had not a rhyme, —A barren, barren world were

Ring out, ye bells
All Nature
With gladness at the wondrous story, —          The world was at lorn,          But Christ is
To change our sadness into glory

I like to hear of wealth and gold,
And El Doradoes in their glory;
I like for silks and satins bold To sweep and rustle through a story
The nightingale is sweet of song;

When a woman looks up at you with a twist about her eyes,
And her brows are half uplifted in a nicely feigned surprise As you breathe some pretty sentence, though she hates you all the while,
She is very apt to stun you with a made to or...

EN storms
And dark'ning
About me threat'ning lower,
To thee,

It may be misery not to sing at all,
And to go silent through the brimming day;
It may be misery never to be loved,
But deeper griefs than these beset the way